


Field Of Green

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Community: hd_angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-23
Updated: 2007-03-23
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He walks over to the bed and he lets out a horrified gasp when he recognises the painfully thin figure shackled there, unconscious but still breathing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Field Of Green

**Author's Note:**

> **Pairing:** Harry/Draco (Ron/Hermione, Neville/Ginny)  
>  **Warnings:** Angst, mentions of character deaths (not Harry or Draco) and mild violence/gore.  
>  **Disclaimer:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine.

He turns the rusty key slowly, careful not to break it. The heavy wooden door opens with a loud, ominous creak.  
  
The combined stench of fungus, dried blood and some other nasty odour he can’t quite place assaults his nostrils and it almost sends him leaping backwards, although he’s used to that sort of thing by now, or at least, he should be.  
  
Two years of war and six months of raids like this will force you to get used to pretty much anything.  
  
Still, what he finds inside the room is not at all what he expected.  
  
He walks over to the bed and he lets out a horrified gasp when he recognises the painfully thin figure shackled there, unconscious but still breathing -- barely.   
  
_Malfoy?_  
  
“Remus,” Harry calls out, snapping back to his senses and finding his voice. “Remus, there’s a prisoner in here!”  


* * *

  
  
“Why did you bring that piece of garbage back to Headquarters?” Moody asks, sounding even more suspicious and edgy than usual. “Have you completely lost your marbles, Potter?”  
  
“Wouldn’t the poor lad be better off in hospital?” a worried Mrs Weasley cuts in, her maternal instincts overruling her immense dislike of the Malfoys.  
  
“If I take him to St. Mungo’s, they’ll send him straight to Azkaban once he’s well enough,” Harry tells them. “No questions asked.”  
  
“Not your problem though, is it?” Moody points out.  
  
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Harry insists.  
  
“What sodding principle?” Moody asks mockingly.  
  
“Malfoy didn’t kill Dumbledore, remember? He couldn’t,” Hermione puts forward. “Honestly, I don’t like him much either, but it wouldn’t be fair to punish him for something he didn’t actually do.”  
  
Moody crosses his arms and huffs. “It’s your house, Potter,” he says grimly, “and mark my words, boy, it’ll be your funeral as well.”  


* * *

  
  
A month passes.  
  
Malfoy rarely talks. Usually he just lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling.  
  
His bruises are slowly healing, but he himself doesn’t seem any less broken.  
  
He seldom eats, and on the rare occasions he does, he picks at his food like a bird.  
  
“It’s just a ploy,” Moody informs anyone who happens to hear. “He’s got something up his sleeve, he does. Sneaky bunch of snakes, the bloody lot of them.”  
  
Harry knows better.  
  
The vast emptiness reflected in those grey eyes tells him Malfoy’s just another victim.  
  
"You'll be fine,” he says softy to the pale boy on the bed. “Just fine.”  
  
Malfoy doesn’t even acknowledge him.  


* * *

  
  
The following day, in the largest Ministry raid to ever go down on record, more people are rescued, some of them in terrible shape.  
  
In one of the dungeon rooms, Pensieves full of horrific images are discovered.  
  
A Muggle woman struck down in cold blood, in broad daylight, by means of a rusty knife, not even magic, and the perverse glee in her assailant’s eyes speaks volumes.  
  
Harry has to look away.  
  
He vows to himself that he’ll destroy those monsters, right down to the very last one of them.  


* * *

  
  
A week later, on Tuesday, Malfoy staggers into the kitchen, squinting his painful eyes against the bright daylight that comes flooding in through the large windows.  
  
It’s the first time he has left his room.  
  
"Malfoy,” Ron greets him and puts another plate on the table.  
  
“Weasley,” Draco says - hoarsely, after so many days with so little words.  
  
“Harry and the others will be down soon.”  
  
“Fine,” Draco mumbles. He looks like he’s on the verge of keeling over.  
  
“Um, look,” Ron says, nervously shuffling his feet. “Harry said maybe we should start afresh, huh, now with the war on and us having a common enemy and you getting hurt and all."  
  
Draco frowns. “I don't want your pity, Weasley."  
  
"It's not pity," Ron says, sounding like he means it. "More like... I don't know... a kind of respect?"  
  
Draco raises a skeptical eyebrow, but still shakes the hand he’s offered.  
  
Respect is something he can live with.  


* * *

  
  
On Friday next Malfoy joins the others for dinner.  
  
The atmosphere is strained, with everyone struggling to act normal and casual.  
  
Draco forces his mashed potatoes down. They’re gooey soft and there’s no logical reason for them to get stuck in his throat, but he feels like they might choke him regardless.  
  
He almost jumps up from his chair when he unexpectedly senses a hand on his knee. It belongs to Potter, who’s sitting next to him.  
  
Draco wonders what the prat’s up to this time, and why he’s even touching him, but he grabs and squeezes Potter’s hand anyway.  
  
Right now, he's grateful for any reassurance he can get.  


* * *

  
  
The following weeks Draco mostly spends in Granger’s company.  
  
He helps her decipher ancient tomes, and he shares with her the kind of knowledge you rarely read about in books.  
  
Sometimes he goes quiet for seemingly no reason at all and he gets a faraway look in his eyes, as he remembers things he’s unable to discuss.  
  
It’s something that worries Hermione, but she knows he wouldn’t appreciate her fussing over him, so she always holds her tongue.  
  
Malfoy hasn’t noticed how Harry keeps watching him, never lets him out of his sight.  
  
The two of them have become friends, albeit tentatively, but Draco still hasn’t a clue that Potter has grown to respect him too, even more so than Ron Weasley, and that Harry's feelings go beyond respect besides.  


* * *

  
  
In the middle of March the last Death Eater camp falls, but the bastard himself escapes just in the nick of time.  
  
Harry returns to Headquarters looking worn out and tired.  
  
Most of the others are talking in the library, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with them, not just yet.  
  
Instead, he joins Malfoy in the kitchen and tells him, “We'll be going after Voldemort tomorrow.”  
  
Draco has long stopped flinching at the Dark Lord's name. "I'm coming with you," he says in the same casual tone he used only a few minutes ago when he asked, “Milk or lemon?”  
  
"No,” Harry says quickly. “You’ll be staying right here!"  
  
Draco frowns at the outburst. “Excuse me?”  
  
Harry flushes. "I mean..."  
  
Draco reaches up a hand to tilt up Harry's chin. "Yes. What _do_ you mean by that, Potter?”  
  
"You… You're,” Harry stammers. “You've become too important to me to... "  
  
Draco blinks, finding all this sadly ironic with a side helping of sweet, but he can't mock Potter, not anymore, and he can't brush this off or lie either. He cares too, even if the bumbling idiot currently sitting in front of him doesn't realise it yet. Potter’s never been very bright in that department, Draco decides. Perhaps it’s time to make something clear, just in case a very bad thing does happen tomorrow.  
  
He leans across the table, kisses Harry on the lips, and informs him, "At this point in time, I have no plans to meet my maker, Potter."  
  
Harry’s eyes widen. "You kissed me,” he blurts out, and slowly traces his mouth with his index finger.  
  
"Problem?"  
  
"No… Not at all,” Harry replies quickly and he’s sure he must be grinning like an idiot.  


* * *

  
  
It all ends that foggy afternoon when green mingles with mist as the Dark Lord falls.  
  
This time he shan’t rise again.  
  
Harry steps away from Voldemort’s remains and the first thought that enters his mind is about Malfoy.  
  
_Draco._  
  
He looks around urgently, frantically, his panic rising when even after ten minutes, he still hasn’t seen anything, encountered no one.  
  
“Draco?”’ he calls out, followed by, “Ron? Hermione? Anyone?"  
  
_Where have they all gone?_  
  
Harry finally spots someone lying on the ground. He breathes a sigh of relief when he realises who it is. It's his hair that gives him away, that brilliant blonde against the green, green grass and why is there so much green today, Harry wonders?

“Draco,” he says, kneeling down next to him. “Draco! It’s me!”  
  
Grey eyes slowly flutter open. The first words the young man utters are, "Did I get her?"  
  
Harry blinks, and only then does he notice the slumped form of Bellatrix a few feet away. "Yeah, Draco. You got her."  
  
"Good. Conniving wench. She killed my mother, you know."  
  
Harry gulps. No, he never knew that. "Can you stand?" he asks softly.  
  
Draco considers the question for a moment and then nods. "I take it you got Vol-- Voldemort too?" he asks.  
  
“Yeah. Now I guess we have to go and find the others.”  
  
As if on cue, another voice calls out over the field. “Harry?”  
  
He looks up to see Ron, Hermione, Neville and Ginny approaching in the distance. Ron’s limping a little and Neville’s hair is sticking up at odd angles, but aside from that, the four of them look fine. _Alive._  
  
Harry takes his wand and fires it at the sky. A blue beam indicates to base camp that all is well, or far better than it used to be.  


* * *

  
  
On his way to the garden, Harry spots Ron and Hermione in the living room, snuggled up together on the sofa.  
  
They’re officially a couple now, and he thinks it’s about bloody time too.  
  
Ginny and Neville seem pretty close as well these days, so he supposes that also worked out nicely.  
  
He finds Malfoy in the garden, sitting on a bench. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?” he asks and joins him.  
  
"Thinking,” comes the solemn response.  
  
"Oh. What about?"  
  
"Past, present, future, what to do about the Manor now Mother's gone..."  
  
Harry nods and takes Draco’s hand. "You'll sort it all out in time."  
  
"I expect so,” he says resignedly.  
  
Harry scoots a little closer and kisses him gently on the cheek. When he pulls back, he notices Draco’s eyes look sad and empty again. “What’s wrong?” he asks.  
  
“You know, the war’s over now, Potter. You don't have to... I mean, the danger has passed. You can settle down now and start a family with some nice girl who could offer you a lot more than I ever could. "  
  
Harry feels his heart clench. "Don't be so humble, Malfoy," he says, fighting to keep the mood light. "It really doesn't suit you."  
  
Draco raises a quizzical eyebrow. "Meaning?"  
  
"You're the only one I want, you prat," Harry says, his voice breaking.  
  
Draco smiles. He pulls Harry to him and whispers, "Likewise, Potter."


End file.
